


Too Forward

by 13atoms (2Atoms)



Category: The Great (TV 2020)
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, Fluff, lil friends to lovers vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:49:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27642356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Atoms/pseuds/13atoms
Summary: Request: Orlo feels self-conscious about his glasses. You try to tell him just how much you *really* think he looks good with them.
Relationships: Count Orlo / Reader, Orlo (The Great TV 2020)/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Too Forward

“I don’t like them,” Orlo grumbled, adjusting the spectacles perched on his nose.

“Stop fussing,” you chided him, reaching across to prevent him from fiddling with the delicate legs of the glasses further. “I like them.”

“Hm.”

With a smooth motion, he pulled your hand mirror from the side table it laid upon, inspecting his face with the glasses for the third time since he had been in your company.

He had come over to complain about his new glasses, but you suspected his real insecurity was much deeper. As the two of you sat perched in your adjacent armchairs, you tried not to stare at him too much. They suited him. And made you think of... things which you should not think in front of Orlo.

Needless to say, you were in favour of the glasses.

“I think I ought to take them off,” Orlo sighed, turning his head in the mirror, a slight frown on his face.

You hated to see how he judged his reflection so harshly. Surely, he was not seeing the same man you were?

“I look rather… bookish at the best of times. These certainly don’t help my case.”

His nose was wrinkled in dissatisfaction, the hand mirror still holding his attention, until the second you spoke.

“You are bookish!”

Orlo lowered the mirror to give you an offended glare, and you held up your hands in a protestation of your innocence.

“That is no bad thing! It is one of my favourite things about you, in fact.”

“Nonsense.”

Orlo rolled his eyes. You huffed in exasperation back. You usually enjoyed your late night conversations with the Count, but this late night crisis over glasses was draining your patience. He was refusing to listen to your reason.

“You need them,” you pointed out, changing tact.

“I can squint,” he joked.

You frowned.

“I will not have you incapacitated by painful headaches simply because you refuse to accept that you look good with glasses!”

Your words were perhaps too strong, not diluted with the usual illusion of casual friendship the pair of you liked to drape across your interactions with one another. You, certainly, were concealing the true nature of your feelings.

In a fumble to change the subject, you spoke again. Orlo carefully replaced the hand mirror on its side table.

“You can commission another pair, if you do not like these! I know you can afford it,” you teased, making Orlo sigh.

“Perhaps I will do that.”

You rolled your eyes as Orlo took the glasses off, pushing them into the pocket of his waistcoat, no doubt to be forgotten about and later damaged.

“Although it will not fix the core issue,” he tagged on, a slight jest in his tone.

You narrowed your eyes, knowing what was coming next, and already despising it.

“And what core issue is that, do you suppose, dear Orlo?”

With a haphazard gesture towards his own face, Orlo rolled his eyes once again.

“You are looking at it, my dear.”

Perhaps you were supposed to laugh, or rip into him as Peter might. You hoped Orlo could not see the embarrassment, combined with a healthy splash or righteous anger, which was boiling hot inside of you.

“My only quibble with those glasses is that they conceal your face,” you told him firmly, before losing confidence. You spoke to your own lap, as Orlo’s mouth dropped open. “Although I think they do give you a rather _wise_ edge.”

Orlo was quiet for a second too long, and you felt yourself flustering, fearing the destruction of a friendship you had loved for so long.

“So you… you like them?” Orlo finally choked out, his throat sounding hoarse.

“I do indeed. On you, that is.”

The moderate distance between you suddenly felt less as Orlo’s body shifted in his chair, his head tilted as though trying to comprehend something deeply challenging.

“Well, if you find me, um, adequate wearing them… I am sure the rest of the Court can cope.”

He reached back into his pocket, and you noticed the tremble of his hand as he pulled the spectacles out, cleaning them, replacing them on his nose.

“I do not care for many other things, but certainly… being able to read clearer is helpful. And I would deeply miss seeing the detail of your face… too… if that is not too forward.”

You ducked your head, feeling the tectonic shift under your feet, and irreversible movement in your relationship.

“It is certainly not too forward, Orlo.”


End file.
